I wonder whether it is the magic hand of chance or part of a set. The eighth month dawns and the clock strikes nine.

Word reaches me that the Court of Magistrates has ordered me to pay a telephone bill; not the reduced figure plaintiff company demanded in court, but the wrong, excessive figure originally demanded and later corrected, in sessions. I am awarded the right of regress against the consumer/tenant but judgement takes years and I find that the debtor has left the island long ago. I feel like a sick eagle looking at the sky!

On to Valletta. My car enjoys the facility of parking on the Palace Square, displaying a permit by the Commission of Police, even when Parliament is sitting. One policeman, however, even against a background of bread vans and trucks waves me on unceremoniously. Far more than his charming manner is his gentleness!

Now to the Inland Revenue where, I am told “there are no more appointments”. I sit out two mornings on plastic chairs. My number comes up, but the customer care officer tells me that my case is beyond her; that I should be seen to by a superior officer. I wait another hour. I am called in, but after I explain my case, the gentleman suddenly goes berserk, as in a fit, telling me “Who sent you here? I am overworked and underpaid!” I leave, almost with apology, and say I would find my own alternative, wondering whether the Civil Service is indeed that!

News arrives that my country home at Mgarr is soon to become inaccessible. I order a bowser for my pool which is running low. I find a scene beyond description, the road dug up, dust and

danger everywhere, vehicles of all types and a scenario quite benefiting Dante’s underworld, and my place completely

inaccessible, except by helicopter; literally so! This lasts nearly two weeks. The bowser man charges me Lm5 for the useless journey. There are no warnings, no explanations and no apologies and certainly no access. There’s also a comic touch. One road worker, in a hurry, comes up to my car, tells me ghax gejja ras kbira!

At the office the next day, I am on the phone with the Traffic Directorate. The official at the other end certainly knows his business. He tells me that the law is clear, no parking is allowed within five metres of any street corner. He quotes the law, chapter and verse, telling me I should know better than to complain that “three metres” are too many. With three metres of yellow lines, he says, I should consider myself lucky, five metres is the law. Within the hour my mobile rings. I am told that the authorities have removed, all the yellow lines put down the day before, including those under request for moderation. Bona fide parking is to be allowed everywhere. I rue the waste of paint; white, yellow and finally black to cancel!

Later in the week, I arrive home to find one of the 150-year-old pilasters on the façade of my house badly damaged by a reversing construction vehicle. It happens in broad daylight but nobody sees anything. My contractor tells me that as my house is bordered by double yellow lines all along the façade, the camera at the end of the road should show the number of the offending vehicle. He suggests I see the local council. They tell me that this is a matter for the police. At the police station I am told that the camera belongs to the local council, the police cannot help with the photo. I fall between two stools.

Last scene of all, that crowns a month of holiday! It falls on a Sunday and it is the feast of St Julian’s. There’s to be no parking in Main Street after 5pm. The police are out in full force informing one and all. Door bells ring. Notices are put up along the walls the day before. I comply and move the car.

It’s 3pm and a few cars are still parked in the area. At 4pm, however, the parking has increased. By 5pm it’s bumper to bumper, the place is full, not one vacant spot! I have a grandstand view of the parked cars along the pavement against a background of “no parking” notices! When I asked a nearby police officer the reason for this, he said he could not explain but had noticed the irregularity. He was called on duty from one of the villages. I said I was only curious and left it at that!

But I was left to wonder. Was all this the magic hand of chance? Hopefully, not part of a set! Or was it?

Jo Zammit Tabona

ST JULIAN’S